


The Joy of Tech

by akitsuko



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Established Relationship, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, M/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Seductive Sherlock, Sexting, Smut, Top John Watson, Workplace Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-02 08:08:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17260652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akitsuko/pseuds/akitsuko
Summary: Sherlock discovers sexting while John is at work.





	The Joy of Tech

The first text is innocent enough, John supposes. He sees it when he checks his phone during a brief gap between clinic patients. 

 

_ Life is insufferably boring when you're not at home. SH _

 

John smiles to himself, and types out a quick reply before Mr Williams is shown in to discuss an ongoing problem with haemorrhoids. 

 

Fifteen minutes later, and Mr Williams is shuffling back out of the door. John waits until the door is closed behind him and sneaks another look at his phone. He has another new message. 

 

_ Don't you get bored of being at work? SH _

 

He can picture Sherlock at this moment, idling around the flat in his dressing gown, maybe fiddling with some fridge-dwelling specimens for no particular reason, with nothing stimulating enough of his interest to keep him from demanding John's attention. He doesn't have a case at the moment, having rejected every client who has come through the door over the past week, and he’s been going a bit stir-crazy.

 

Before John can reply, another text comes through. 

 

_ Why don't I make work more interesting for you? SH _

 

John feels faint stirrings of misgiving, as he always does whenever Sherlock starts scheming. It almost never ends well for him. He hurriedly texts back before the next patient arrives. 

 

_ Whatever you're thinking, don't.  _

 

He just has time to shove his phone back into the desk drawer as Mrs Barnes comes into the room and starts explaining about the pain in her hip whenever she bends. 

 

It takes some effort to reassure her that it's nothing sinister, and he feels drained by the time she leaves. He checks his phone again and gets a sinking feeling when he sees three more unread texts. 

 

_ I’ve been learning about sexting. Have you heard of it? SH _

 

Oh lord. John takes a deep breath and looks at the other messages. 

 

_ I think you'd like it. SH _

 

_ I want to touch you. SH _

 

John bites his lip, finger hovering over the reply button as he feels the beginnings of arousal start to pool in his groin. He almost reaches down, intending to palm himself through his trousers, before he catches himself and rapidly closes down his messages. It would be unprofessional. Beyond unprofessional. He would even lose his job if he were caught. 

 

The fact that it would be incredibly hot is frankly irrelevant. 

 

He groans as he wills himself to be less turned on, and he shuts his phone back in the drawer, where he resolutely ignores its existence for four patients in a row. 

 

The first is a straightforward case of thrush. 

 

The second is an incredibly anxious young man who is absolutely convinced that a small cyst near his jaw is going to kill him. 

 

The third is a toddler with a runny nose. 

 

The fourth is a woman who doesn't understand how she can possibly have had a positive pregnancy test, while simultaneously admitting that she hasn't been using any contraception. 

 

After she's gone, John leans back in his chair for a moment, closing his eyes and wondering whether this is how Sherlock feels all the time he’s around ‘ordinary people’. 

 

He can see from the computer screen that his next patient hasn't checked in yet, so he succumbs to temptation and retrieves his phone. Seven new messages. He opens them with a mixture of apprehension and excitement. 

 

_ Would you like me to touch you, John? SH _

 

_ I want you to be hard for me. Like I am right now. SH _

 

_ If I close my eyes, I can imagine my hand is yours while I get myself off. SH _

 

The mental images being conjured for John are going straight to his dick. The thought of Sherlock, alone in their flat, masturbating and thinking of him… it’s enough to bring his heart rate up and his shirt collar suddenly feels too tight. He tugs at it uncomfortably, swallowing back the excess saliva as his mouth waters. The arousal is going to be difficult to temper back this time, and he considers taking a quick break to the privacy of the toilet. 

 

He braces himself and reads further. 

 

_ It feels good, John. Bet you wish you could hear me. SH _

 

_ Where do you keep the lubricant? SH _

 

_ Found it. SH _

 

_ My own fingers don't feel as good as yours, but they still get the job done. SH _

 

“Oh god,” John whispers as he gives himself a squeeze over his trousers. He can't help but picture it. Sherlock reaching behind himself, those dexterous fingers lubed up and pressed into his arse. He’d start with just one, then two and soon three, stretching himself out and whining deliciously as he brushed against his own prostate. He’d endeavour to hit that same spot over and over again, rocking back onto his own fingers, all the while imagining that it was John. 

 

John checks that the door is closed properly. The computer screen tells him that his next patient still hasn't arrived. If he's quick, he could do it. 

 

He turns his back to the door, just in case. Unbuttons his trousers and reaches inside his boxers to take hold of his cock, which already hard enough to be uncomfortable, and sighs at the instant pleasure and relief. A new message flashes up on his phone screen, and he opens it eagerly. 

 

_ Do you wish I was there with you, John? SH _

 

John chokes out a strained laugh as he works himself, struggling to type a reply with one hand. 

 

_ You know I do.  _

 

He’s barely hit the send button when he hears the door opening, and he’s filled with instant horror as he freezes in place, all cognitive function suddenly devoted to figuring out how he can reassemble himself before he's exposed and fired on the spot. 

 

“Surprise.”

 

Hearing that unmistakable voice immediately turns his terror into disbelief alongside no small amount of fury and an unhealthy dose of desire. He whips his head around as Sherlock comes into the room and shuts the door behind him. 

 

“What the hell are you doing?” John hisses. “Sherlock, I’m working. You can't just waltz in.”

 

“Yes, I can see you're incredibly busy ‘working’,” Sherlock deadpans back with a pointed glance at John's open trousers. He strides across the room and leans in close to John's face, lowering his voice. “Tell me. Did those messages turn you on?”

 

John is trying to look cross but suspects that he's failing. “Why ask when you already know the answer?”

 

“I want to hear it from you.”

 

“Of course they bloody did! I don't think you appreciate how difficult it is to stay professional as a doctor when all I can think about is wanting to bend you over my desk and fuck you into next week.”

 

Sherlock’s answering grin is positively predatory. “Well, what are you waiting for?” He spins to lean his elbows on John's desk, sticking that enticing bum out next to John's face. “You’ve got approximately nine minutes before your next patient arrives, since the last one failed to show up. Think you can manage?” 

 

He wiggles for good measure, and John is on his feet so fast that his chair falls over. He takes a moment, standing behind Sherlock, to run his hands along the lean length of his back, before reaching around to undo his trousers. “You haven't given me much time to prepare you.”

 

“That won't be a problem.” Sherlock sounds ever so slightly breathless as John yanks the trousers down around his thighs, and then hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers. 

 

“I can't just fuck you without any sort of… oh.” The words are lost on John's tongue as he pulls the boxers down and sees straight away the slippery, puckered evidence that Sherlock hadn't just been pretending to finger himself in those texts.  _ Christ _ . He feels like he could come on the spot. 

 

“Eight minutes, John. Tick tock.” Sherlock’s voice tears him out if his stupor. He takes him by the hips, positions himself, and carefully pushes forward. His eyes roll back in his head as he meets very little resistance, and he realises that Sherlock has done a  _ very _ thorough job. 

 

“Jesus, Sherlock,” he groans as he bottoms out, pausing for a moment to centre himself and focus. Eight minutes isn't a long time. This isn't an opportunity for a slow build, for tenderness. All he can do is chase a release. So he slides in and out again, quickly building up a relentless pace, pounding into this completely infuriating man, with whom he has somehow fallen in love. 

 

Sherlock has braced one hand on the edge of the desk and reached underneath himself with the other, furiously stroking his own cock. “John,” he grinds out. “I can't… I can't hold back…” 

 

“Good,” John pants back. “You started this. Hurry up and come for me.”

 

It’s as if he said the magic words, and Sherlock’s entire body shudders as he comes all over his hand and the front of John's desk. John is only a few thrusts behind, and his grip on Sherlock’s hips tightens as he gasps and empties himself inside. 

 

They each stay where they are, catching their breath. Then, with some effort, Sherlock turns his head to the side so he can look up at John. “Three minutes. Tissues.”

 

John has a box of tissues within arm’s reach. He pulls out of Sherlock, and they clean themselves up as best they can in the limited amount of time they have. Very soon, all the visible signs of their encounter are gone, but to John it still feels as obvious as anything. He’s not sure how he's going to get through the rest of the clinical day. 

 

Somehow, Sherlock has made himself look impeccable again, as if nothing has happened, and John is certain that he doesn't look nearly as unflustered. Sherlock leans in and kisses him, grinning again as he pulls away. “I'll see you at home.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Then Sherlock is back at the door, and he swings it open, surprising an elderly woman standing on the other side, her hand raised as if about to knock. “Ah, Mrs Greenway. Excellent timing. Dr Watson is ready to see you.” He stands aside to allow her into the room, and throws John one last smile before sweeping out and away. 

 

Mrs Greenway begins to explain about a ringing in her ears, and John struggles to concentrate. 

 

When he next gets a chance to check his phone, he has one new text. 

 

_ I’ll be waiting. SH _


End file.
